


Terrible Things

by FallenAngel1157 (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But still kinda sorry, Depressing, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2102937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/FallenAngel1157
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock meet one day at a bistro and find themselves insanely attracted to each other.</p><p>(Gosh I'm so bad at summaries ;-; Just prepare for heartbreak)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrible Things

**Author's Note:**

> From the Mayday Parade song Terrible Things (hence the title) I decided to Johnlock the song up :)

"They have such good food here!" John's date snatched his hand and dragged him through the doorway of a small bistro. "And the garden out back is amazing!"

 

John nodded, not actually registering anything coming from the younger man's mouth. All he could do was gape at the interior of the restaurant, knowing there would be a hefty bill.

 

"Table for two out back please," The blonde exclaimed with too much excitement in his voice. John couldn't believe he'd agreed to a date with someone so... Gay. He couldn't think of any other way to put it. First off, the way he dressed. Bright colors, even too bright for the warm summer. And his hair. There was obviously gel in it, and it irritated John to no end the way he spoke. He was already wishing for the date to end before it started.

 

The two were led out back at seated between the door and the wrought iron fence laced with white roses. The tables were round, made to look like white lace with matching chairs. It was, as his date had proclaimed, amazing. Breathtaking, really. The small path underfoot was also nice, the bricks a gorgeous contrast of warm reds and browns. There wasn't a weed to be found among them. Trees surrounded the small vista, sunlight filtering through the branches and blocking out the view of the street on one side. The park was visible next to the restaurant, making John smile at the sight of a dog chasing a frisbee.

 

"Hello, my name is Isabel. Is there anything you'd like to drink?" A waitress showed up at their table, her auburn hair reaching far beyond her shoulders. There was a piercing in her eyebrow, a small metal ball, along with a tiny hoop in her lip.

 

"Hmmm, how about iced tea? This one sounds delicious," John tightened his jaw and continued looking at the menu as Isabel leaned down and started conversing with his mistake. "Johnny, is there anything you want?"

 

John cringed a bit. He didn't enjoy pet names, and especially not one so childish. "... The same, I guess."

 

The waitress took off to get their drinks and John flipped through the menu with a bored expression. He tried blocking out the flamboyant voice piercing his thoughts. His thoughts about the prices of the food. It was so expensive... John was sure it was for the appearance and not the food itself.

 

"Johnny, what were you thinking about getting?" His head was tilted to the side, eyebrows raised a bit over his turquoise sunglasses. So embarrassing.

 

"Whatever costs the least. How can anyone even afford this?" John muttered under his breath, but his date must've heard him.

 

"Aww, Johnny! I can pay for it if it's too expensive-"

 

"No, I can pay for it, it's fine-"

 

"Really, John. I'll pay. Don't worry about it. We're both guys. It's not like I'm a girl and you're making me pay." John snorted at that remark. He might as well have been female with the way he was acting. Why couldn't he ever find anyone? Anyone different? They were always the same; Too showy, too manly, too gruff, not understanding enough, too emotional... The list went on. But they all shared one trait. They were all much too dull. He couldn't find one person with an interesting life or an interesting hobby. When he did though, it was extremely strange, like some fetish he'd never heard of (and quite frankly, didn't want to know about).

 

This date was the same as the others. Going nowhere, and fast. It wasn't just simple boredom, it was irritation. Part of him wanted to stand up and strangle the obnoxious blonde.

 

He stared off into space over his date's shoulder until someone caught his eye.

 

There were two men, further into the garden, seated next to the fence. One was wearing a suit, the other a purple button up shirt. John couldn't help but think of how nice the color looked against his pale skin.

 

Dark locks stirred as he leaned onto his right hand, obviously giving up on the conversation he was in. There was something about his face that drew John's curiosity. It wasn't what one would normally see, not one that would automatically register as attractive. But John was intrigued. His pale eyes were amazing; green, blue, or grey? He couldn't think of any way to describe them. He couldn't think of any way to describe this man.

 

Except stunning.

 

It was like going into an art gallery or museum. He just took his breath away.

 

The unique man had John staring for longer than he intended, which drew his attention. John felt his face growing warm as the man raised an inquiring eyebrow.

 

* * *

Sherlock was bored. Extremely so. His brother was droning on about some boring case he wanted him to solve, and the sun was a bit too bright for his liking, and the roses smelled too strong, and the waitress obviously hated them...

 

And then there was the man staring at him.

 

Sherlock tried to ignore it at first. He was used to getting strange looks in public. Which partly added to the reason he holed himself up in his flat. He knew he looked strange. He'd once even been called an otter. That had his mind reeling for a few days. An otter? Then again, it _was_ a comment from a young child.

 

It did take him a couple minutes to realize that the stare was in no way negative. It was more a look of curiosity, curiosity coming from an annoyed ex-military civilian. His posture said it all.

 

He thought it was a bit more interesting than his brother, and was somehow drawn to this mysterious soldier. He leaned onto his hand nonchalantly before letting his eyes wander towards the man's table, raising an eyebrow to start a wordless conversation. If the man was intelligent enough to figure that out.

 

He started blushing instantly, which had Sherlock smiling. He had been -the way normal people worded it- checking him out. And for some reason, that made Sherlock all the more interested.

 

The man let his eyes cast down for a moment before looking back up apologetically. So he was intelligent enough...

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, making the man smile. He so desperately wanted to know his name. Part of him also wanted to hear his voice. Since when had a stranger gotten him this... This excited?

 

The man sitting across from him waved his hands around awkwardly. Sherlock could tell instantly what was going on. The poor man was stuck on a date with that annoying guy.

 

Sherlock looked to the younger man dressed in colors such as orange and bright blues and pinks with a disgusted look, then back at the soldier with a look saying that he could do better.

 

The returned gesture was this; a shrug with a slight eye roll. That told Sherlock two things: He had been in this predicament before, and that meant he was still trying to find someone. And that he found the man obnoxious as well.

 

Sherlock couldn't contain a smile. Mycroft seemed to catch on though.

 

"What are you smiling like that for, brother dear? I just informed you that your little inspector friend will be leaving for a vacation. The ultimate result is that you will remain without a case to keep you busy. Are you even listening to me Sherlock?" Sherlock looked back to his brother who was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Sherlock's eyes flicked back to the other table as the brightly dressed man walked into the restaurant, no doubt to go to the bathroom.

 

"I have a matter to attend to." With that, Sherlock set his hands on the table and scooted back in his chair just a sliver. He got up and walked over to that interesting man.

 

* * *

 

John couldn't think. He couldn't speak. He was so nervous.

 

He was walking towards him. Probably walking past. Hopefully walking past. John's palms started to sweat a bit. There was no way he could speak to this man. No way.

 

But, fate so happens to decide against him every time.

 

Before John could say a word, his date's seat was taken by the most beautiful person he'd seen in his life.

 

"Alright. We have approximately fifty seven seconds to speak before your little friend comes back and my brother gets curious." John swallowed nervously. His voice was... Brilliant. And he could tell his mind was even sharper.

 

"I couldn't help but notice you staring at me," Those amazingly pale eyes stared back at John, and there was no way he could speak. "Was there something you wanted? A question, perhaps?"

 

"A-A question?" John racked his brain. There were so many thoughts running through it, he wondered how he didn't have a headache. "N-no... I just..."

 

"What's your date's name?" His eyebrow was raised once again, making John blush a bit.

 

"Will." A small smile spread across the tall man's face. "What, is that your name as well?"

 

"No," The answer was quick. He must've noticed this, because he shifted a bit in the chair. "Well, yes. Kind of."

 

"Kind of?" John let out a short laugh. "What do you go by if not your name?"

 

"Sherlock." His head tilted to the side again. "Sherlock Holmes."

 

"Sherlock," John nodded as he said the name. It was unusual. Quite fitting for the man sitting in front of him. "Well, I'm John. Watson."

 

"Did I ask?" Sherlock looked a bit irritated, making John's heart sink. Here he was, mucking up yet another encounter with a human being. "I'm just teasing you. With the limited amount of time, I'm overjoyed that you seemed to read my mind."

 

Overjoyed? John was uncertain that the blank expression could be thought of as joy.

 

"We have about 20 seconds left, John Watson. Ask away." Sherlock leaned on his hand like he had during his conversation with his brother.

 

"Can I have your number?" John was surprised with himself. He never had the nerve to straight out ask a stranger for their number before.

 

"I don't have a pen or paper on me." John sulked a bit. "However, I could take your number."

 

"But isn't it the same problem?"

 

"Just tell me." John swallowed before rattling off his number to the lanky man before him.

 

"I'll be speaking with you soon, John." He rose suddenly and pushed the chair back the way he had found it before stalking back over to his own seat.

 

* * *

 

"Sherlock, what was that all about?" Mycroft looked at Sherlock with an irritated glare. Sherlock merely shrugged.

 

"I believe it's called flirting. I'm not sure. All I know is that I have someone's number." He smirked at his brother.

 

"I cannot believe you..." Mycroft shook his head before setting his fork down. "I was starting to get worried. I thought he might be one of the murderers you so willingly chase after."

 

"Right on time," Sherlock whispered as "Will" took his seat across from John. He found it funny, that the soldier seemed attracted to multitudes of Williams.

 

"Here's your bill. Take some dessert, on the house." The waitress came back and sighed. The short blonde was anything but amused.

 

"Dessert...?" Mycroft opened the small box and let his eyebrows rise in surprise. "This is delightful. Many thanks to your baker."

 

"Anything for the Holmes'." She sighed again and left the check to them as she rushed off to another table.

 

"Quite delightful, thank you for the cake, I'll need to work out for another 2 days after this-" Mycroft looked up at Sherlock with a glare. He had been speaking quietly to himself in a high-pitched voice, no doubt mocking his brother.

 

"Why do you insist on harassing me in public?" Mycroft closed the small box and signed the check before tossing the pen back down. Sherlock smiled a bit and snatched both from his brother.

 

"Sherlock? What has gotten into you?" Mycroft tried reasoning, but Sherlock was having nothing of it. He ripped the side of the customer receipt evenly around what he had written.

 

"Mycroft, give me a twenty."

 

 

* * *

 

John was almost ready to punch Will. Still talking about some girly show he was into. Still talking about his trip to the salon. Still talking about his friends. Still talking about clothes shopping. _Still. Talking ._

 

John wasn't sure if he'd gotten the memo. He thought this was a date, a time where both parties learned about _each other_ and spoke to _each other_. Not whatever this was, sitting and listening to non-stop blabbering.

 

"I mean seriously, she was so hideous! I had to let her down nicely, of course. But that eye-shadow. So. Hideous." John had tried being nice. But at this point, he was done.

 

He was so done.

 

"Can you _please_ just shut up? I'm sick of hearing you go on and on about whatever creeps into your head!" John realized that his sudden outburst was uncalled for. Will had completely stopped, and his mouth was open a bit. "... Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

 

"No. It's fine." Will no longer had a pleasant expression on his face. It was downcast, depressing, blue, and John was starting to feel a little bad. But the idiot had it coming, right?

 

The silence was a little awkward, but John welcomed it more than non-stop talking. His eyes were staring holes into the plate. He barely noticed as Sherlock walked by, his hand placing a small note in between the table and the edge of his plate.

 

John blinked a few times before grabbing it and opening it.

 

"What's that?" Will piped up again. He looked over with a smile on his face.

 

"Twenty pounds." John unfolded the neat creases as Will started talking again, this time about nice people really existing in the world.

 

John's breath caught in his throat. A warm smile spread across his face as he looked down at the small piece of paper in the middle of the note.

  
There were digits, along with the name _Sherlock Holmes_ scrawled beneath in small, slanted handwriting.


End file.
